The Staircase By: Georgepat         Copyright: 2006 by Georgepat The grand staircase of the old Fairmont Hotel had seen much better times in it's heyday one hundred and fifty three years ago but was now slated to be destroyed by the city that bore it's name. Times had changed and no one believed the stories that circulated about the stairs anymore. These were the modern times now and such mundane things couldn't bother the townsfolk, such as ghosts, spirits or otherwise ethereal entities inhabiting an old, dilapidated building.                                                                   ***   Jackson Fairmont had been a successful businessman, dabbling in all things that would turn a profit and cost him next to nothing to invest in. The empty building at the end of Dooms Street had caught his eye one winter's day and with his sharp acumen had determined that he could spend a nominal amount of money to refurbish the structure and rake in huge profits by turning it into a hotel. Three months passed quickly and with him breathing down the necks of the various contractors he had hired, urging them to work faster, cheaper and to do the things he wanted, the job was finally finished on the first day of spring. He placed an ad in the local paper announcing the opening of the newest and grandest hotel this side of the mighty Mississippi and had arranged to have the local high school choir perform a cappella while positioned around the base of the grand staircase with their sweet voices rising to the heavens. He set special rates for the first week only, with newlyweds and couples that were celebrating anniversaries given first priority to the best rooms and the finest service that was available for miles around. He had hired and trained a staff that was far above the run of the mill employee. Dressed to the nines with their waistcoats, top hats, and with white gloves and shoe leather that glistened in any light, these employee's were the crème-de-la-crème of any employer's dream and he paid them well.                                                                  *** Lord Eric Walpole and his new bride Lady Dorothy were visiting the opulent estate of a close, family friend when news came of the new hotels opening and decided to avail themselves of an opportunity to mingle with the nouveau riche of this society. Reservations were made, transportation arranged and on the appointed day, the young Lord and Lady Walpole made their entrance through the large, ornate front doors of the new hotel. The serving staff of the Fairmont immediately took charge of the young couple and escorted them up the grand staircase directly to the two rooms assigned them and then set about helping to unpack and hang the guest's clothes on gilded gold clothes stands. Finished with their task and after inquiring if any further services were required of them, they quietly withdrew from the rooms and returned to the lobby to await the next guest.                                                                     ***    All was not as it appeared with the young Lord and Lady Walpole. Lord Eric was a cad, a bounder and rapscallion to his very core and although well known in his own country for his many less than honorable dealings, very little gossip had crossed the Atlantic to forewarn any unsuspecting Americans as to his true colors. Lady Dorothy knew nothing of her husband's business dealings nor cared about them one-way or the other. All she cared about was that there was enough money available for her to spend when she wanted something, which was proving to be more often than not. She also had another, slightly more serious problem that as far as she knew, Lord Eric knew nothing about. She had a wandering eye for men and many times in the past when her husband was traveling about the countryside on business, she would discretely invite anyone from the groundskeeper to the stable boy for a quick interlude in the hay barn. When Lady Dorothy felt the urge, and it was now more acute than ever, American men proved to be no less than she had anticipated and willingly joined her for clandestine meetings after Lord Eric was fast asleep, in any venue of her choice. She was insatiable in her desires and many men had left her bed completely drained in both body and soul. It was just such an urge that after the gala opening festivities of the Fairmont hotel had died down and the other guests had wandered off to their rooms, she cornered a handsome waiter, resplendent in his serving attire and working her wilily charms on him, soon had him in her bed across the hall from her sleeping husband's room. This night though, Lord Eric was not asleep. He was waiting for Lady Dorothy to return to her room for he wished to pay her an unexpected visit and perform his husbandly duties. It had been some time since he had the time or energy to satisfy her needs the way she liked and had purposely held back from consuming too much alcohol in order to be with her tonight. He heard the door across the hall close gently and walking to the mirror to once again to check his appearance, decided to give her a few minutes to prepare for bed. Fifteen minutes later, he walked across the lush, carpeted hall to stand in front of his wife's door. As he placed his hand on the door handle, turned it and started to open the door, he heard slight murmurings issuing from her room and held himself in check at the doorway instead of walking directly in and announcing his presence. With the door opened a few inches, he was able to make out the murmurings inside as the sounds of lovemaking in progress and felt the blood in his veins turn to liquid fire as the realization of what his wife was doing struck him in the face like a solid blow from a mans fist. Leaving her door cracked, he returned to his room and reemerged a few moments later with a small, double-barreled derringer clutched tightly in his grip. Making no attempt to remain quiet, he pushed his wife's door open and strode into the room, walking directly to the bed. The kerosene lamp was turned low, but he had enough light to see what had to be done. The hapless waiter, sensing that another presence was nearby, turned his head just as Lord Eric pulled the first trigger and sent a small, lead ball crashing into the man's brain. Lady Dorothy screamed and pushed the bleeding corpse off her body. Leaping from the bed, she threw her white, silk gown around her shoulders and ran for the doorway with Lord Eric in close pursuit. Other guests, awakened by the sound of the pistol shot, had opened their doors and were cautiously looking into the hallway only to see a young woman, dressed in a flowing white gown, running madly down the hallway towards the great staircase just in front of her. Lady Dorothy turned her head to see where her husband was and in doing so, tripped over her own feet and plunged down the staircase, her body rolling over and over as her head slammed against the marble steps time after time until finally, she lay sprawled at the bottom of the ornate stairs with her legs and neck bent at an impossible angles and blood seeping from her mouth, nose and ears. Lord Eric Walpole, realizing what his actions had caused, cast a last quick glimpse down the grand staircase at the bleeding, dead body of his lovely wife, turned his back to the crowd of guests gathered in the hallway, put the barrel of the small gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.                                                                     ***    In times long past, rumors had it that on certain nights, if you happened to be in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel at just the right time and with the lighting such that it wasn't directly on the great staircase, a young woman could be seen floating just above the marble steps, wearing a long, white, gossamer robe and a sad, forlorn look in her ghostly eyes.                                                                      ***    As the first swing of the giant wrecking ball slammed through the outer walls and into the great staircase rendering it into nothing more than a pile of wood, marble dust and debris a loud, piercing scream could be heard over the noise of the demolition and then slowly fade away to nothing. The Staircase